A Million Versions of Right

by Matthew Revert

  My mind kept lingering on Max’s menstruation claim. It’s not as if I began to believe him. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I disbelieved, but he was damn passionate; I couldn’t deny him that. I wanted that passion within myself. The passion I used to have. The passion that Max had removed from me. I wanted to inflict him with my revenge. The truth was I did have thoughts of revenge; it’s just that they weren’t directed at Max. They were directed at the District. Max’s only mistake was to clumsily knock over the comb jars and I was an unfortunate casualty of that. The District hadn’t even made a mistake. They were calculated in their attempts to do me in. The more I thought about it the darker the residents of the District seemed. They didn’t deserve my passion and commitment. They deserved nothing.

  I ran my fingers seductively over the jar of pills. I pondered their contents and imagined my body absorbing them. I contemplated popping one in my mouth and waiting for my body to react. I wanted desperately to trust someone and I sure as fuck couldn’t trust those bastards out there. Max was the only thing left. Could I trust him? Did I want to trust him?

  The minutes dragged like decades. I explored Max’s strange little home, which was ascetic in its design. There was an armchair, a stove and an unfinished manuscript, penned by Max, devoted to buttock jokes. I flicked through it. The jokes weren’t overly amusing and I could understand why it sat unfinished. There was a basket of food in the corner that I assumed was for me. I hadn’t eaten in a while and knew that hunger should be knocking but it wasn’t. The food looked unfamiliar and didn’t smell overly edible. I left it as a last resort. I decided it would be sensible to pass the time sleeping and forget about the District, Max and the scissors in my head.

  Sleep wanted to take me but my body wouldn’t allow it to fully penetrate. I just skirted around the dazed edges. Restless dream flashes concerning women’s rights and misogyny drizzled through my brain. A militant feminist performance artist was extolling the virtues of menstruation and flicking her blood at me with spindly fingers. Several more women informed me that the artist didn’t speak for them; that for every woman who embraced menstruation there were a hundred others who didn’t. I was reminded that a man has no right to an opinion regarding the topic at hand. I was told to go back to my macho Hair District and have a bear hugging party. My penis was minced by horse teeth and I was laughed at. I mounted the same mutilating horse and tried to escape the mockery but was bucked off after a short time. I crawled desperately through a field that at once became an enormous vagina-scape. I was swallowed into nothingness.

  I popped the lid without thinking and placed a pill onto my tongue. I swallowed and felt as it travelled down my throat in a painful, dry scrape. Then I just waited.

  * * * * *

  There was nothing at first except for an increase in my appetite. I crawled over toward the basket of food and sniffed at the contents. I picked up a jar of grey paste and slowly unscrewed the lid. The smell leapt out and bitch-slapped my nose. I dry wretched but had nothing to bring up. After several minutes I acclimatised to the odour and decided to scrape out a large gob of the paste with my fingers. It instantly dried into a crust, which transformed the odour into delectability embodied. I sucked at the hard crust and embraced a flavour that was orgasmic in its utter perfection. I scooped out as much paste as my fingers would allow and smeared it about my body. The next several hours were spent picking at the crust and devouring as much as I could. The acid in my stomach churned in appreciation.

  With my appetite satisfied I began to experience an amazing awareness of my own body. My nipples were aching and jutting out like pins. I spat on my hands and slowly massaged the saliva into my nipples, which did little to curtail the sting. This affected my mood rather strongly and I began to cry dismally, which in turn gave me an erection that I took care of immediately. I grew incredibly angry at my penis after I ejaculated and slapped it about until it shrivelled away. Every emotion inside me grew into unstoppable behemoths that wrapped themselves around everything. I wanted to break things, I wanted to howl but most of all I wanted my mother. I screamed for her, knowing full well she wouldn’t come. I hugged at a pillow, pretending it was her; imagining her caring arms around me, totally looking after me.

  A tremendous pressure attacked my stomach that knocked me into a foetal position. It didn’t matter how I contorted my body, the pressure only increased until I was doubled over in pain. This was accompanied by a fever which lathered me in sweat. I vomited every speck of the hardened paste onto my lap and developed unstoppable gas.

  The cramps in my body refused to subside so I began pushing on the scissors in my forehead, hoping it would cause enough pain to take my mind off the rest of my increasing woes. It didn’t work. Instead I was now forced to deal with my head wound combined with everything else. I started thinking about seemingly random objects and these thoughts filled me with excuses to cry. There was a pen that didn’t work. A box assembled incorrectly. Board games with missing rulebooks. I imagined what it must be like to crave a straight line and have no access to a ruler. More and more seemingly arbitrary scenarios popped into my head and all of them were indescribably upsetting. There was no way in hell that women actually endured this shit. Was there?

  * * * * *

  Max came back two days into my menstruation facsimile. He saw me sprawled on the ground like a rape victim and a smile developed on his face. “You took the pills!” he proclaimed with a loud clap.

  I stared up at him with pure rage. I wanted to tear his arms off and beat him with them. I wanted to hide under blankets and sob about extensions cords. I wanted to bite his balls off and shove ‘em up his smug arse. Instead I managed a pathetic, “Where have you been?”

  “There will be plenty of time to discuss that. For now I want to know how you feel?”

  I scoffed at the pure indignity of the question. “How do you think I feel? It’s like my fucking guts are being squeezed in a vice.”

  Max chuckled in what I assumed was an attempt to irritate me. “I know, Jack. It’s a bloody wretched feeling isn’t it? Don’t worry, it will pass soon. I just needed you to know how it felt.”

  “Have you been through this?”

  “I sure have. I’ve already tried it on myself.”

  “How chivalrous of you,” I said sarcastically.

  He brushed off the comment and simply asked, “So, are you in?”

  To be honest, the minute the pills kicked in I had forgotten all about Max’s story. I was lodged purely in the present moment, just dealing with the orgy of symptoms. The only thing I knew was if there was even an ounce of truth to his claim, it would be inhumane for me to not help him. No one should have to experience this shit. The diabolical sensations occupying every inch of my body were beyond mere description. My mood was such that a negative outcome for the Hair District teased me with joy. I wanted revenge.

  “I’m in.”

  Max clapped his hands and leaned in for a hug. I wanted to reciprocate but something stopped me. “None of that shit. Just tell me what we need to do.”

  Max smiled warmly and patted me on the shoulder, a gesture that I shrugged out of. “All will be revealed in the morning, Jack. For now, I really feel you should sleep your present condition off.”

  I wasn’t about to disagree with him. After politely asking Max if he’d mind tucking me in, I drifted off easily. If my cramps were still intent on attacking me during sleep, I was mercifully unaware.

  * * * * *

  I woke up relatively fine. My nipples were still tender and vomit had managed to mat itself into my pubes but otherwise I couldn’t complain. With my improved physical condition I was surprised to find that my desire to take down the Hair District hadn’t abated. It’s interesting how quickly we can let things go when given no other choice. My heart and soul one day was my disdain the next. I grinned at the thought of their hair falling out, their businesses closing, their jars becoming useless. My only real problem involved Max. I wa
s reasonably certain that his story was a crock of shit, which would mean status quo-ville for the District. Sure, he’d proven he could temporarily induce the symptoms of menstruation – at least I hoped it was temporary – but it was another thing entirely to convince me that the mere removal of menstruation would result in hair loss. He hadn’t even convinced me he could get rid of menstruation to begin with.

  Max was involved in an early morning callisthenic ritual that involved graphic nudity. I saw him engaged in the kind of angles unfit for the eyes of man. Every lunge and bend was interjected with a gentle bladder massage that involved the chant, “My urine, my urine, I’m going to do some urine.” I swear his fucking bladder must have been a damn tumbleweed. Max was a man who simply couldn’t piss and it intrigued me. Where did all the liquid go? It’s safe to say that the more time I spent with Max, the more comfortable I felt around him. That’s not to say I liked him. He’d had a pretty major role to play in the end of my life as I knew it and I couldn’t just forgive that. I’d just stopped viewing him as threat. He sure as fuck wasn’t throwing scissors at me, which was a good start. The only life I had right now involved him and I was doggedly going to ride it out. What else was there to do?

  His callisthenics showed no signs of ending and I was getting antsy. “When are you going to tell me the fucking plan?” I asked in agitation.

  Max craned his head in my direction, maintaining his current pose. “Sorry Jack, I didn’t know you were awake. You sure slept like a baby last night.”

  “Would you put some clothes on for fucksake, Max? That knob of yours isn’t too nice to look at.”

  He blushed so heavily that his left ear folded inward. “Of course, Jack. My nudity is rather unsavoury, I’ll grant you that.” He wrapped his cape around his body like he was braving a snowstorm. He sat uncomfortably close and gave me a peck on the cheek, which earned him a quick slap.

  “Let’s just forget I did that shall we, Jack?”

  “Sounds fine by me. What’s the plan?”

  “You sure get to business don’t you? You don’t want a playful chat first or a neck rub?”

  “Fuck off, Max. What’s the plan?”

  Once again, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not used to such insurmountable rejection. “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do.” He fetched a bottle that contained about a litre of red liquid. “This is woebegone, Jack. This stops menstruation.”

  It looked like red cordial to me but I didn’t care any more. “What do we do with it?”

  “It’s simple really. The best way to ensure maximum consumption is to spike the water supply. We just have to pour this into the catchment that supplies the District and then we wait.”

  I furrowed my brow, visibly annoyed by the simplicity of it all. “What? So that’s it? You need my help pouring some liquid into a fucking catchment?”

  “Well, yes, Jack. I never needed you to help administer the woebegone. I just wanted to seek your council, which, when I think back, you really haven’t provided me with.”

  “Forget about it, let’s just scalp these fuckers.”

  Max grew silent save for the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the bottle. I stared at him with impatience. “No Jack, this isn’t right. You appear to have your heart set on revenge, which is clouding your judgement. I wouldn’t feel comfortable using the woebegone knowing that your intentions weren’t admirable.”

  I clutched Max with stiff hands and captured him in my stare. “Look, Max. You’re right, I want those fuckers to pay for what they did, but taking that pill was quite possibly the worst experience of my life. I don’t care if the Hair District remains unaffected by what we do. It’s our duty as humans to end such vile suffering. The fact that women routinely experience such unprecedented misery at the hands of this criminally administered virus is unforgivable. Let’s do what we can.”

  I was lying my tits off but thankfully Max didn’t pick up on it. Sure, no one should have to experience menstruation but it was revenge that I was after; pure and simple. I just hoped that somehow he was right and that by reversing menstruation we could abolish hair in the male population. Let’s see those smug bastards try and style hair when it doesn’t exist, I thought with a smirk.

  Max flashed an unusual smile. I’m sure he wanted to believe me more than he actually did. He nodded before saying, “Well, I guess we’ll do it tonight then.”

  * * * * *

  I had expressed concern to Max regarding my safety outside of his house. The scissors in my forehead were a pretty good indicator that the District wished me pain. Max had assured me that he’d take care of it and I actually believed him. His daughter – who was now menstruation free thanks to a positive woebegone trial – was a costume maker earning her living in a nearby sewer system. Max had contacted her immediately after I raised my concern and I was told that a costume would be ready for me to collect some time that afternoon. There was an entrance to the sewer system under a section of floorboard in Max’s house. Apparently he and his daughter were quite close and they appreciated the direct link to each other. Max told me that when noon arrived we would take a trip into the sewers to which I reluctantly agreed. Noon arrived fast.

  Max thrust a flashlight into my hand and suggested I wear one of his several body stockings. They were made of a material that repelled ‘the old sewer nasties’ as he called them. He broke into laughter and flippantly informed me that the stocking was actually to protect the sewer from me. I didn’t know if I should be offended or not but I squeezed my body into the stocking anyway. It was about as flattering as British teeth but it made my penis look impressively large. I was pretty sure my immediate future would involve several pelvic thrusts.

  After jimmying open the area of floorboard leading to the sewer, Max made his way inside, gesticulating toward me, beckoning me to follow. It was damp like an elderly nappy but smelled a fair bit better than I would have expected. The stale air was infused with a distinct pine odour. I’d never been in the sewer system before. It was a whole new plain of existence. I knew that the Hair District continued to buzz with life just above me, yet I felt so utterly separated from it. I no longer viewed this as a bad thing.

  The longer I spent with Max, the more I wanted to know about him. He was no doubt an intriguing man and to be honest, I’d essentially forgotten that he was ultimately responsible for the mess I was in.

  “What’s with your house, Max?” I asked after an hour or so of silent sewer walking.

  “What do you mean, Jack?”

  “Those barbers wanted me dead. Your house isn’t exactly fortified. I wouldn’t be surprised if a mild breeze knocked it down.”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. People just don’t like coming inside it. Maybe they think it’s cursed or somesuch nonsense,” he said with a chuckle, “What’s with this sudden interest in my abode anyway?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t said a word to each other in over an hour. I kinda feel like talking.”

  “And given everything that’s happening, it’s my house you want to know about?”

  “Well I’ve spent a fair chunk of my life there lately. I don’t understand what the hell it is! What’s it made of anyway? They’re skeletons covering the walls right?”

  “The skeletons are the walls,” said Max, finally giving in. I’m not a wasteful man, Jack. Many years ago I was gifted several dozen bison that I maintained poorly. It wasn’t a deliberate act on my part. I simply wasn’t schooled in bison care. As one would expect, they all died, leaving me with a mountain of rotting flesh. I could have enlisted municipal aid and had them removed but it just wasn’t my style. I used the bison as best I could. Their meat was boiled and forged into a carpet-like layer. Their organs were utilised in clothing and the walls in my home were made from the bones. I dare say my home repels because it reminds us of our mortality.”

  Max’s story trailed off without really giving me any information. My eyes had finally adjusted to the snaking envi
ronment unwinding before me. To my surprise, the sewer system was quite heavily populated with all manner of people, each of them seemingly normal, going about routine tasks. We passed a man with a standard chin fixing his penny farthing, swearing under his breath. A group of small girls were slapping a much older, larger woman, trying to wake her up from what I assumed was alcohol induced slumber. An old man who was walking a large dog who was walking a smaller dog who was dragging a dead frog waved at Max in recognition, Max waved back. Of the two hundred or so people we passed in the sewer, Max seemed to know most of them.

  “How do you know all these people?” I asked, frustrated for reasons I couldn’t comprehend.

  “I’ve been coming down here for many years now. I find the sewers infinitely more peaceful than the streets. The people here are usually a fair bit more wholesome.”

  “Aren’t you worried about all the piss and shit?”

  “Nah,” he replied dismissively.

  * * * * *

  We had been walking for some time. The scissors in my head were aching like a motherfucker and the body stocking was starting to chafe. I’d barely even had a chance to thrust my pelvis. Max hadn’t slowed down one iota during the whole walk and I was struggling to keep up while trying not to show it outwardly. My armpits were making a wheezing sound that clearly blew my cover.

  “Don’t worry Jack, we’re nearly there.”

  “I’m not worried,” I said in a squeaky voice that tried to suck my testicles away.

  “You are worried but that’s okay. Just around this bend and we’ll be there.”

  As the sewer turned it began to give way to a large expanse of space filled with makeshift houses and hubbub. A small, wooden sign informed me that we were about to enter the town of ‘Drippings’. The name was apt. Every structure and growth dripped with multi-hued liquid and sludge. The pine scent from the tunnels had intensified, tickling me with nausea.